I smirk and kiss her neck again, slower this time. My tongue traces the edge of her neck, the sharp line of her carotid artery, the muscles that remain tense beneath my mouth. I kiss and tongue my way to the crook of her neck, then graze my teeth across her skin. She groans this time, a long, drawn-out gasp through clenched teeth. Against her will, I know, she's starting to enjoy this.
I kiss her collarbone, her clavicle, the little hollow at the base of her neck. I flick my tongue into that hollow, taste the salty sweet flavor of her sweat, the scent and taste that's all her. At the same time, I flatten my palm across her stomach, cupping her navel under my palm, memorizing her body slowly, methodically.
Her belly trembles beneath my hand, clenching and unclenching, heaving with deep breaths as she struggles to control herself. But she can't. Because her body belongs to me now. Her pleasure is mine, her desire is mine, and she is not going to escape my needs this easily.
I will make this innocent little virgin my personal slut in no time.
I am hard as a rock, feeling her growing desire with her bare body pressed against mine. I lie down across her, flat, so she can feel every inch of me. She inhales sharply when my hard cock presses against her upper thigh, the layers of fabric between us suddenly frustrating.
I lick and suck my way lower, along her chest, and when I reach her breasts, I feel her lift her hands and bury them in my hair. At first I think she's going to try and pull me away, but instead, she tugs me against her, closer, and I part my lips to suck her nipple into my mouth, the blade of my tongue curling along her hard nipple. She moans, and her body arches, her hips thrusting up into me. I steal a glance at her face, enjoying the expression, torn between pleasure and frustration, anger at herself for feeling this way, hatred of me for putting her in this position.
But she thrusts against me anyway, grinds her pussy against my leg, her hip rubbing against my swollen, aching cock, and she fists her hands in my hair, glaring at me even as she gives in to the want.
I can feel her wet pussy against me, smell her hot desire, and I swear, my cock is so rock hard it might break through my jeans. I inhale sharply, pin her to the couch suddenly, red-hot lust flaring behind my eyes.
I need her. Now.
But before I can reach down and undo my jeans, I force myself to shove off the couch, back to my feet.
Pamona is gasping, legs spread, eyes glistening with unfulfilled lust. Her face is bright red, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her hands fly to cover her face. Between her legs, I catch a glimpse of the couch, soaked beneath her, and I have to turn around, hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms to drag myself back to my senses.
Christ.
I almost fucked her right here and now.
This is not the way it's supposed to work. I am supposed to be the one driving her wild, not the other way around.
I can hear her behind me, sitting up, still panting with want, and I can't even turn around to enjoy the naked desire on her face, or savor the way she must feel right now, conflicted and furious with lust and anger. I can't enjoy it because I have to tame my own fucking lust.
This is insane.
You are Farrow Lochlan, I tell myself. She is Calvin Badiary's daughter. You are in control here.
I planned this for so long. Worked through every detail. I am in control.
So why does she make me so wild with want? Why do I want to turn around right now and pin her to that couch again, finish what we started?
"Farrow," she says, her voice trembling, though whether it's with anger or something else, I can't tell.
My chest clenches. It's the first time she's said my name. It sounds too good in her mouth, in that pampered, posh accent of hers.
I cross the room without replying and wrench open the door. Slam it behind me, snapping this connection shut.
3
What the hell just happened? I huddle on the couch, curled over myself, arms wrapped around my naked torso. My clothes are in a puddle across the room, but I can't bring myself to stand up, cross over there and put them back on. I'm not sure my legs would support my weight at this point. And besides, my heart is still racing too fast to let me think about anything except what Farrow just did to me.
My whole body feels electric. On fire with desire. I want nothing more than him to finish what he started, right here on this couch. I am naked and alone, and the couch is damp beneath my ass, wet from my own shameful desire.
How could I want him? How could I give in to this man who has taken everything from me? And why am I tempted, even now, to run my hand down my stomach and touch my pussy. Finger myself until I finally crash into the orgasm that I can't help wanting.
I clench my hands into fists, trying to distract myself. You don't want him. You're just scared and alone and naked in a strange place, and he feels warm and somewhat familiar.
I'm remembering the alley all those years ago. The summer afterward, which I spent fantasizing about him, dreaming about a moment exactly like this. A moment when my savior-my dark, dangerous savior-returned to finish what he started. To take me and make me his.
That's what he's threatening to do, after all these years. Take what he could have taken in that alley. Fuck me senseless.
But he insists he won't, not until I beg him to. It sounded absurd when he first said it. I thought that would be impossible … Until now. Until I realized what he could do to me. How he can make me feel.
The door opens again and I gasp, flinging myself down along the couch.
But it's only Farrow. Only? I ask myself, wondering when I got so accustomed to him seeing me naked. He tosses something at me. A robe.
I stay huddled against the couch, glaring at him, but he just watches me brazenly, his gaze roaming across my body until I realize I have no other choice.
Fuck him.
I unfold myself and stand up, drawing myself to my full height, naked in front of him. I feel hot all over, in every place where I can feel his gaze on me. I ignore it as best I can and stoop to scoop up the robe. I wrap it around myself, cinch it tight, and then join him by the door, jaw clenched.
"Follow me," he says and leaves without a backwards glance.
I trail after him through the second story of the house. It's as well decorated as the first floor, with the cozy air of a family home. It's not where I'd expect a single bachelor to live, much less someone like Farrow. He opens a room at the end of the hall for me, and I tense, almost expecting to find something terrifying-some dungeon or horrible dank room he wants to lock me in to punish me.
Instead, the door opens to reveal a beautiful suite, one that reminds me of my bedroom at home. A huge bed and a side door leading into a private bathroom lined in marble. I linger in the doorway, studying it. I notice the broad window beside the bed, open to the night air. Not locked.
I'm still staring when Farrow brushes my shoulder lightly, almost hesitantly. "You have free range here," he says, following my gaze. "I know you won't try to escape. Your little sister makes a much better ball and chain than any locks would."
I close my eyes. By the time I open them again, he's gone, and I feel like I can finally breathe freely.
There are some clothes in the closet. He guessed my size in everything, from the silky nightgowns to the sexy lingerie. I find a drawer full of thongs and lace panties and skimpy bras. I close that and head for the shower. I need a cold shower-maybe that will help me regain control.
Because I can't stop thinking about his hands all over me. His tongue on my skin. The red-hot fire between my legs that refuses to be quenched.
The shower is enormous, situated above a clawfoot bathtub. I turn the water on and stick my face under it, hoping this will help. But even with the cold water rushing over me, all I can picture is him. His face. His breath against my neck. The way he took possession of me so easily.
I hate him. I want to leave.
And yet … I slide one hand between my legs and find myself still wet from his caresses.
I scrub my skin with the soap I find beside the tub. I wash myself roughly, as if I can exorcise the yearning from my body. I rinse off and dry, padding back into the bedroom. The only clothing available is what he picked out for me. I pick through the nightgowns, and choose the one with the most coverage-which isn't much. I slide on a thong and add the silk nightie overtop. It barely covers my breasts and ass at once, low-cut and short as hell.
I'm about to climb into bed when I find something else, underneath the covers. I pause, feel around for the hard object. When I slide it out, my face flushes.
It's small, egg-shaped. I've never used one, but I recognize it anyway. A vibrator.
There's a switch on the side. I press it, and my blush deepens as the egg begins to vibrate in my palm. Quickly, I switch it off and stuff it in the nightstand before I climb into bed and settle under the covers.